


Pretty Privilege

by mollyroll, occultisaperta



Series: occumol brainrot [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Don't copy to another site, Drug Mentions, Explicit Consent, Friends With Benefits, Height Differences, M/M, Power Imbalance, Protectiveness, Size Difference, fast scorch, i mean they're cellmates it counts, one sided fundywastaken - Freeform, one sided georgebur, provider dream, sassy george, sexual harrassment from third parties
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:16:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29972409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollyroll/pseuds/mollyroll, https://archiveofourown.org/users/occultisaperta/pseuds/occultisaperta
Summary: A warm thumb traced a line along his bottom lip, his eyes drawn to it almost magnetically as his cellmate brought it to his own mouth. The tip of his tongue moved past his lips to lick his finger clean, and George hated how the sight made his cheeks heat up. It had been too long since...“You’ve got pretty privilege, Georgie," Dream’s voice sounded low. Dangerous.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/Floris | Fundy, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound/Wilbur Soot
Series: occumol brainrot [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2204580
Comments: 23
Kudos: 209





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Syphus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syphus/gifts).



> Occu and I were struck by *that line* so hard we built an entire AU surrounding it
> 
> Gift to Syphus bc its his bday (and I owed him like two fics) LOVE U KING HAPP BIRF
> 
> I'm in my writer's block arc please leave me love it rly helps ;;
> 
> Same as our other co-written fic, George POV is me and Dream POV is occultisaperta, we're alternating chapters  
> More tags will be added in the future  
> We've done our research, we wanted to keep this respectful but please keep in mind this is still a fanfic and we're taking some liberties with the legal system
> 
> Hope you like it!

The metal door closed behind them with a deafening thump, and then there was silence. The honking of distant cars during rush hour, the evening breeze howling harshly, every single noise he had taken for granted for twenty-four years, now gone. He still couldn't believe this. He had never even gotten arrested in the past but now… _now…_ The handcuffs around his wrists had long since warmed up from his body heat, warm enough that now George felt they would sear a brand into his skin.

The officer on his right said something but George didn't quite catch it. Then the one on his left pulled so hard on his elbow he almost lost his footing. The chain of his shackles was probably long enough to walk, but at that moment George could do nothing but shuffle along as he was led deeper and deeper into the building. And all he could think was how naive he had been to trust those he once called his friends, who sold him out and made him take the blame for everything.

They came to a stop in front of a door labelled infirmary. A younger officer with kind eyes explained to him they’d need to conduct a strip search. Something about his charges and protocol. George sighed, reluctantly following him into the room. The officer undid his shackles and handcuffs, all while speaking softly, in a gesture that might have been an attempt at being comforting. George rubbed the reddened skin of his wrists absentmindedly, as the guard asked him to remove his clothing.

He had gotten searched once before, and it was far from a fond memory. The officer tried to be as gentle as possible, directing him as he was made to move his body, but it didn’t stop George’s cheeks from burning red. Nor did it stop his heart dropping to the pit of his stomach when the officer asked him to turn around and bend at the waist, his own hands to spread his buttcheeks apart. Something about being completely bare and open in the presence of a stranger felt more humiliating than anything he had endured up to this point. When they busted him at the airport, they had had the x-rays… they hadn’t needed to…

“Squat and cough deeply.”

“I don’t have anything on me…” George’s voice sounded smaller than he intended.

“Please, it’s routine.” The officer’s apologetic tone did nothing to make him feel better.

Despite his compliance, due to his charges he was guaranteed an internal medical examination from the start. The officer grabbed a robe and a chair for him, as they would need to wait for the doctor to return from an emergency outing. 

“How long will it be?” he asked, already dreading the answer. 

“Two to three hours”, the officer replied. 

George sunk down into his chair, head in his hands. He had had nothing to eat since the morning. He was beyond famished. His body hurt. He wanted to go home.

Defeated, his shoulders slumped. “Can’t you do it and get it over with?”

The officer, Wilbur as his nametag read, gave him a consent form to sign. Then he slipped on a pair of latex gloves.

Now free of the restraints, George walked with his head held high and what remained of his dignity. The two officers who waited outside the infirmary walked him to a set of double doors, an armed female officer waiting at the side. The door opened and the noise level immediately cranked up to eleven. Past it was general population. George could feel his heartbeat thumping against his throat in dread. This was it. Cold sweat dripped down his brow as his last hope for a semblance of normalcy kept crashing down.

As they crossed the threshold, the guard looked at him with disappointment in her eyes, and for a second George saw in her the face of his mother. His family, all back in England, didn't know yet and George had no idea how to even begin to explain. He had never believed in divinity, but at that moment he found himself muttering a quick prayer.

He would make it through this. He would survive. He was far stronger than anyone ever gave him credit for.

Jeers welcomed him as he entered what would be his home for seven long years. George kept his face down as the inmates taunted him. He hoped it was as meaningless as just bullying the fresh meat but... but he had heard the stories… he knew what they did to _guys like him_ in prison...

If the officers hadn't taken hold of his arms and all but dragged him up the stairs to the top tier, his knees would have long buckled under his weight by now. He was terrified. His head was spinning. He just wanted to go home. He wished he had never come abroad to study, never got into debt at school, never accepted the offer of easy money...

"Won't you be mine, baby?" A gross voice shouted from his left. "You're so _pretty_."

"Hey! I saw him first!" Someone else growled behind him.

"Just share him, I bet he could take both." 

A chorus of laughter rang in George's ears as he felt his eyes starting to water. His gaze was firmly trained on his black leather boots, but out of the corner of his eye he could see arms reaching through the bars, trying to grab at him. Soon, the officer would be gone, and soon…

They were almost at the end of the hallway. 

"Hey, isn't that Dream's new cellie?"

Even more raucous howling erupted behind them.

"Didn't Dream send the last guy to the hospital?" 

"Careful, baby," A mocking voice called out. "He's gonna break a pretty little thing like you in half!"

George wanted to vomit.

They reached the very end of a hallway and stopped. A blond man stood against the bars, cruel light eyes fixed on his. 

“Poor guy, his cellmate’s a killer…” George felt the hairs at the back of his nape rise when he overheard the guards talk as they opened the door. 

He would be damned if he cried in front of this man, in his very first day in prison. In a last ditch effort to hide his weakness George stood straight, meeting his gaze with what he hoped looked like confidence. From the other side of the bars, the man raised an eyebrow at him with infuriating amusement.

“Inmate, hands on the wall.” The officer next to him barked out and after a mocking salute, the man inside the cell obeyed. They quickly shoved George inside and locked the door, in such a hassle that made George tense up. Was this man really as dangerous as the others had claimed? His hands were shaking so bad as his handcuffs got removed through the bars that the officer couldn’t quite fit the key in them until the third try.

George's back rested against the cold steel of their cell bars. As the officers' footsteps grew dimmer and dimmer, his heart sunk lower into his stomach. Clammy hands tightened around the laundry bag that held his one change of clothes, nails digging into the rough canvas. The other man was still staring at him, daring him to make the first move. Their cell was tiny. Up this close, the other inmate towered over him, as if his rough appearance wasn’t already enough to make George feel self conscious. He had clearly been in a couple fights, judging from the long scar across the bridge of his nose and the darkness around his left cheek reminiscent of a half healed bruise.

At least he didn’t seem to be aggressive? For all that the other inmates had been hyping him up to be, George had half expected to get slammed against the wall and beaten within an inch of his life but… Maybe prison was just that. A whole lot of bluffing and gossip, and little to actually get worried about.

Taking a chance, he pushed away from the bars and towards the bunk bed, tossing his laundry bag onto the lower one.

"Can I be the bottom bunk?" 

George didn't realize the implication until his cellie's eyes lit up, almost like a switch had gotten flipped.

“Oh?” he could hear the infuriating smile in his voice and it was already getting on his nerves. “So you’re a bottom?”

"Shut up." He shot the other a nasty look as he plopped down on the bed, idly stretching out his legs, kicking them back and forth. 

The other man barked an incredulous laugh, hands making an aborted gesture in the air. "At least ask for my name before getting in my bed, jesus."

George froze, and the other man broke out in obnoxious giggles. His eyes followed his cellie as he walked closer, sitting next to him. His posture held no aggressive intent, and George could feel himself slowly begin to relax.

"Dream.” 

“What?”

“That’s what they call me. Dream.” 

George felt a smile break across his face. “I don’t remember asking you.”

Dream scoffed. “Quite a mouth you got there, pretty boy.”

George hummed, feigning disinterest. Half scared he had crossed a line in the sand that he couldn’t quite see. Half wishing this easy banter would continue, that he’d have the courage to rise up to the bait. 

They had nothing else to do. Loud chatter filled the silence, and Dream was more than happy to contribute to it, babbling at George about nothing at all. The C.O.s who had escorted him were total slackers. Too bad they wouldn’t be on duty overnight, they might get a hardass to supervise their unit. Never go to the very last shower stall, you might not like what you see. Writing your name anywhere on the building was tempting fate. Don’t talk to the C.O.s unless strictly necessary, otherwise you’d be labelled a snitch. The cafeteria food was shitty but it was hard to notice the taste when you were forced to basically scarf it down.

Dream seemed friendly enough, George thought as he continued whatever story he was sharing. Maybe his stay here wouldn’t be half as grueling as he’d thought it to be, if he could have Dream by his side.

A loud noise interrupted Dream’s rant and George’s eyes widened when he realized it had been his stomach growling. He had been so engrossed in the other he had forgotten all about his hunger. For a second he contemplated asking the other where he could buy some food, but then he remembered he had no money. Better turn in for the night then, sleep had helped him forget hunger pains in the past. He shifted on the bed, meaning to stand up, but then he noticed the other had a complicated expression on his face. His brows were furrowed, and his mouth tight into a straight line. George looked away, confused and uncertain.

Wordlessly, the other stood, kneeling by the foot of the bed. George wanted to peek, full of curiosity, as Dream rummaged through his chest. He pulled a small white trinket and threw it at George.

“What’s that?” He picked it up by a corner of the plastic packaging. It was a sort of white pastry, big bright letters on the front read Iced Honey Bun. 

Dream’s bed dipped as he sat down again, as if nothing had happened. “It’s a honey bun.”

“Yes…” George felt he should tread carefully. After all, he had heard _stories._ “But why?”

Dream shrugged. “You were hungry.”

George knew damn well what was expected when being gifted sweets. There was nothing such as a free treat in prison. There were no things like favours or generosity, and the last thing he wanted was to get unwittingly tied down to someone he barely even knew.

“It’s okay, I’m not-” his stomach growled again interrupting his refusal, and he looked away in shame.

“Hey, I know what this looks like” With a sigh, Dream ran a hand through his messy hair. “I don’t want anything from you. This is a gift, no strings attached. Just take it.”

Not entirely convinced, but willing to leave his reservations at bay in favour of finally getting some food in his stomach, George carefully peeled open the packaging. Dream wasn’t meeting his eyes, instead looking down at his intertwined fingers as he wriggled them. As if they were the most interesting thing ever. The silence between them felt heavy. Still hesitant, George took a small nibble from the honey bun. It was far from the best pastry he had tasted in his life, but George wasn’t really in a position to complain. It was good enough, sweet enough, filling enough, and he was hungry enough that he finished the remainder in two bites.

He should probably thank Dream.

“It’s George.” The other looked up at him, confused. “My name is George.”

“George…” The way Dream spoke his name, almost as if tasting the syllables, had a shiver running down his spine.

He looked to the side to find his cellmate staring at him intently.

“What, do I have something on my face?” George raised an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah.” Dream sounded breathless, eyes fixed on his lips.

George felt out of breath himself, as if the oxygen in their tiny little bubble was slowly getting sucked out. 

“Well, what is it?” George fidgeted impatiently, entirely unprepared for the way the other man leaned in. A warm thumb traced a line along his bottom lip, his eyes drawn to it almost magnetically as Dream brought it to his own mouth. The tip of his tongue moved past his lips to lick his finger clean, and George hated how the sight made his cheeks heat up. It had been too long since...

“You’ve got pretty privilege, Georgie," Dream’s voice sounded low. Dangerous. His eyes smouldering as he looked straight into George’s. “I’d hate to see a _pretty_ little thing like you get turned out by the brutes out there.” He paused for a moment, his gaze intent on George, and then added. “I could help you, if you’d have me.”

Rage mixed with absolute fear flowed through his veins. How dare Dream talk to him like that. He had thought he’d be different. He didn’t think… he didn’t think he himself would react in such a way. His heart was hammering away inside his chest. Being called pretty by the other inmates felt gross, but being called pretty by his cellmate _didn’t._ Desperately, George wanted to speak up and say something, anything, but no sound came out. His balled up hands were trembling, still clutching the honey bun wrapping. Next to him, Dream was looking at the middle distance with a blank stare on his face. George was trapped in this small cranny of their tiny jail cell, at the very end of the hallway, tucked away from view. He could feel his breathing speed up.

George shot up to his feet and up the ladder to the relative safety of his top bunk, where he would be free from far too dangerous light eyes and an even more dangerous mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

He wasn’t sure if he was ever going to get out of prison. There was the chance that someday, someone would uncover his past and the last place he would see was death row. He’d just gotten out of a stint in the hole -- and before that a week in medical from the fight that he and Technoblade had gotten into. He was officially alone, in a  _ new _ cell, facing the prospects of a longer sentence if he got into  _ more _ trouble _ ,  _ and feeling just a little jaded.

It didn’t matter though. Twenty-five years was practically his entire life, and Dream wasn’t going to waste it moping around over everything he’d lost.

_ Everything that he’d lost _ . 

He’d been in the facility for nearly two years, and in that time he hadn’t let himself get close to anyone. There were a few  _ unfortunate _ times when his fist came into proximity to someone’s face. It was actually just that kind of incident that put him in the position he was currently in. Leaning against the bars and listening to the catcalls of the prisoners in the cells surrounding his. 

Fresh meat.

He was going to get a new cellie.

Dream wasn’t sure if the complete filth that was coming out of every man’s mouth down the block was because of the new guys appearance, or just because they were all thirsty pigs; the truth of it hit him the moment that the guards led the young man forward.

He was  _ the prettiest _ person that he'd ever seen. He was so  _ small _ \-- everything about him gave Dream a moment of feeling  _ huge _ , and  _ protective _ . The jumper that they’d given him was  _ baggy _ on his slender frame. It drifted slightly to the side, the neck stretched out from whoever had last worn it -- the ill fit gave him a glimpse of a sharp collarbone, clean and visible on soft skin. Something in Dream’s gut twisted at the sight, and his breath caught in his chest. His new cellmate would be downright  _ delicate  _ next to him _.  _

It was a picture that Dream couldn’t get out of his head, once it had started. It burrowed its way somewhere at the base of his skull and he knew it wasn’t going anywhere.

As his new cellie slipped into the room, he realized that he didn’t  _ want _ it to. He went through the motions of putting his hands on the wall while the door was open, lived in a moment of amusement as the guards practically  _ fled _ the instant the door was closed… and then found himself shocked when the smaller man finally spoke. 

“Can I be the bottom bunk?” 

His mind actually heard the accent first -- primp, proper, so  _ far from home _ . What had he done to land  _ here?  _

And then Dream realized what he’d actually  _ said.  _

He couldn’t stop himself -- the words were flying out of his mouth before he got a hold of his tongue. The  _ mental image _ was worse, and he was going to choke if he didn’t manage to get it out of his head somehow. “Oh?” His mouth lilted into a grin, “So you’re a bottom?”

_ A bottom -- a bottom -- a bottom.  _ Dream hadn’t even  _ thought _ about the possibility or logistics of sex with another person since… and now he was… 

The emphatic  _ shut up _ followed by the new guy plopping down  _ on his bed _ was nearly enough to make him reel. Instead, he laughed.

“At least ask for my name before getting in my bed, Jesus.” Not that he’d give him his real name.  _ Clay _ was dead.  _ Clay _ had died the moment he’d gotten caught. But Dream...

He could already see it, as they traded quips back and forth, with the brunette showing that he was completely full of sass… he was completely fresh. Completely new -- and whether he wanted to admit it or not, Dream could see that he was afraid and he had no idea what was going on. If he had any chance of surviving for more than a week, he was going to need help.

“You can’t just sit on someone else’s bed, dude.” His voice was patronizing, but he was trying to relay a message. It was just the truth -- you’d get shanked for less. “It’s some of the only personal space that we have. They take everything else from us, so the few things that we can claim are  _ important _ .” There were so many things to go over, and he was just getting to the cafeteria food when a loud, rumbling sound stopped him.

It took him a second to realize that it wasn’t a wild animal. It was his cellie’s stomach.

He wasn’t sure what possessed him to do it other than a completely idiotic rush of protectiveness and a  _ need _ to provide that surged through him; he moved without thinking and found himself frowning for a moment when his fingers grabbed the last honeybun that he had from his trunk. It wasn’t a common pastry, either. It was a  _ whitegirl.  _ It was the cream of the crop, the most delicious, most sought after, hardest to get honey bun. They sold out on store days before most people could even swipe their cards -- he could use it to bribe the guards, if he had to -- but for some reason, he was throwing it to his cellie. He was so skinny; he needed it more, he was probably starving. 

And his name was  _ George.  _

Maybe it was the taste of his name on Dream’s tongue that made him bold -- bold enough that he leaned in after George was finished eating. There was white frosting clinging to the corner of his mouth, thick and sticky and reminiscent of…

_ Something _ …

“Do I have something on my face?” 

He shouldn’t -- he knew he shouldn’t… but Dream couldn’t stop it when he stretched a finger out and carefully ran it along the lower pout on George’s face. The frosting was sweet on his tongue when he popped it into his mouth -- the underlying taste of his  _ new friend _ was  _ saccharine,  _ like cotton candy filling his senses. 

He blamed his high on that taste for the offer that slipped from his lips. 

_ I could help you, if you’d have me. _

He’d never offered to protect someone before.  _ Pretty privilege.  _ Georgie was just so  _ delicate. _

It was stupid. George crawled to the top bunk without saying a damn word, though the outrage was clear on his face. Something inside of him  _ instantly _ shut down, cursed softly with regret that he’d let the words slip out at all. But it was too late, now. 

The thought was still there, and it was one that Dream knew he wasn’t going to be able to shake any time soon. 

\---

For someone who had seemed so  _ pissed _ at the prospect of being taken care of, George sure was following him around like a lost little kitten. Dream could see the reluctance written all over his face, but that didn’t stop him from hopping out of bed the moment that they were buzzed out of their cell and then turning his eyes almost warily in his direction.

That same strong sense to protect the man in front of him surged upward, and Dream rolled his eyes -- he probably exaggerated the motion a bit -- and turned back to his chest. He pulled a new pair of slippers out and tossed them to George. 

“Why?” One word. Accusation. Thick and backed up with a glare that hinted to the fact that he remembered last night very clearly.

Dream shrugged, “They gave you used ones, can’t you tell?”

Saying  _ I just want to help _ wouldn’t get him anywhere, obviously. Telling George that  _ no one _ was going to look at him kindly if he stepped fresh out of his cell with dirty slippers would probably just offend him. Honestly, the smaller man was lucky that Dream had a stock of supplies at the ready.

“Oh, God.” George’s voice was full of irritated lament, but he didn’t miss a beat when Dream stepped out of their cell for breakfast. 

It was obvious that George hadn’t been listening to a word he said the night prior -- either that or he didn’t care -- because he headed straight into the chow hall without so much as checking to see if he was going to run into anyone. Luckily, Dream managed to grab the back of his jumpsuit and steady him before he crashed directly into someone. The last thing that Dream needed was arguments on the block; George was  _ fresh meat _ , and he was  _ pretty. _

No one would hesitate to fuck him up or try to make him their bitch.

Both options made Dream’s hackles rise. 

The morning seemed to be one situation after another where Dream was stepping in, stepping in front of George -- making sure that he  _ didn’t _ get himself into trouble. It really was like a little kitten, and Dream had never felt more like a guard dog in his  _ life.  _

It wasn’t the worst feeling, if he was being honest with himself.

It wasn’t until they came back to their cell and Dream fished in his chest again that George’s voice drifted to him, soft and full of accusation. 

“Why are you doing this?” Dream raised up with an armful of items; toiletries, a water bottle, and two soups, the plastic packages crinkling and catching George’s attention. He dumped them on the top bunk and then leaned against the wall. 

“What do you mean?” 

“What do you  _ want _ for this?” Apparently, if nothing else that Dream had told him stuck with him, George heard the fact that  _ nothing is really free _ loud and clear, because the suspicion was thick in George’s accented voice. Except… in this situation… 

“Nothing.”  _ You _ . “It’s whatever.”  _ He wanted to protect him. He wanted Georgie to be  _ **_his_ ** _ delicate, pretty boy. He’d never felt emotion as strongly as he felt these.  _ “I have extra, that’s all. Perks of being  _ dangerous. _ ” He laughed the word off, though there was a truth behind the statement. 

Somehow, none of the words that were boiling just behind his lips managed to make their way out. Dream stamped the feelings down, swallowed like razor blades, and offered a rakish smile instead. 

George scoffed, rolled his eyes… and grabbed the items with greedy fingers. It was clear that he wasn’t going to turn down food and comfort, even if he still wasn’t sure  _ why _ it was being offered. 

He sorted through the items and then shifted his gaze upward; there was something behind his gaze, as though he was working his way up to  _ say _ what he was actually thinking… but the gate break call interrupted him, and Dream found George following close at his heels again instead of divulging whatever had been on the tip of his tongue.

Maybe later.

It was actually a  _ relief _ to see Sapnap in their usual spot on the rec yard. Everything had been thrown into chaos since he’d been pulled from his cell for fighting with Techno. He hadn’t seen him since that last glimpse of his wide eyes when he’d been half dragged, half carried out of their cell with blood on his face, making his hair stick to his forehead. 

“They finally let you out of the hole?” Sap’s voice was teasing, but Dream could hear the warmth behind it. They were in different blocks, so they hadn’t seen each other during breakfast, but they still had yard and lunchtime together. 

“You know they couldn’t keep me there forever.” Dream smiled, and his eyes instantly lilted to George, “Who would break in the newbies?” There was only a brief moment of pause, and then he shifted slightly, his shoulder bumping against the man beside him. “This is George, my new cellie.” His eyes landed fully on George at that, “Georgie, this is Sapnap. He’s the only person in this hellhole that I trust. So you’re probably safe around him,” and with another grin, he added, “Probably.”

“Great, Dream. Go ahead and scare him.” Sapnap’s eyes turned to George, and he arched a brow. “What are you in for, anyway? A traffic violation?” Dream laughed -- the question was one that everyone asked and no one answered.

But George, who  _ still _ seemed like he hadn’t listened to a damn word he said, started to  _ talk.  _

“They caught me with one kilo of cocaine at the airport.” George shrugged, trying to appear indifferent. “My friends said it’d be easy money but… all I got was a nice all-paid holiday behind bars.” He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I still have a court date coming up, I don’t even know how long-”

“Wait!” It actually took Dream a moment to  _ realize _ that George was telling the  _ truth _ about how he’d gotten locked up. His eyes widened and his hand clapped out without thinking, slipping over George’s mouth. He leaned in and his voice was rough when he whispered, “Georgie… you don’t tell people things like that.”  _ Tricked into smuggling _ . Of course, it was something soft. “If you’re going to tell people what you did, say you killed someone,” he instantly shook his head at his own words. No one would believe that. “Tell them to fuck off. Just don’t tell them the  _ truth _ .” People would be on him quicker than he could blink if he kept this up. 

Sapnap, to his credit, was just standing there with his jaw slightly agape and his eyes wide. Finally, he cleared his throat and managed to choke out a laugh, “God, Dream. You sure know how to pick them, don’t you?”

George’s cheeks flamed pure crimson. He jerked away from Dream’s touch and frowned. 

“I… I’m going to go cook my noodles.” 

He sounded like he was saying  _ fuck you both _ , but at least he managed to keep those words at the back of his tongue. It didn’t take a genius to realize that he was embarrassed.

But Dream couldn’t understand the anxiety that twisted in his stomach the  _ moment _ that he was out of his sight.

“Wow, Dream. Buddy,” Sap’s voice was full of a mixture of shock and mock, “Your cellie is going to get himself killed looking like that and acting like that. Or,” Sap’s eyes drifted over Dream’s shoulder in the direction that George had gone. “Maybe someone will just take him from you.”

_ From you. _

Did Sapnap see straight through him? He wasn’t sure, but he twisted his gaze to follow Sapnap’s line of sight… just in time to see George running into one of the bulkier men on the yard while fumbling with his jumper to pull out the ramen that Dream had given him earlier.

“Fuck.” He swore under his breath and half sprinted to the microwave line, wondering if he was going to make it before George was crushed to a pulp.

Thankfully, the man was intent on letting George know exactly _ how  _ he was going to crush him _ , and then use him _ , and then  _ maybe _ he’d kill him; he was an old head on the yard, and he liked to flex that prowess with the new meat. It gave Dream time to get there, and time to slip beside George and put one arm on his shoulder. He fixed the man with his gaze and arched one brow. The corner of his mouth lilted into a lazy grin, but he knew that his eyes were winter. “I  _ just _ got out of isolation, Flint.” When George tried to slip out from his grip, Dream shifted his arm, sliding it around his waist and pulling him closer. His fingers dug pressure against George’s side -- this was  _ important.  _ He needed to  _ stay still _ . “Now I see you threatening  _ my _ cellie? If I break your arm, they’re going to throw me right back in, and I’d hate that.” He laughed, and even he was aware of the fact that it wasn’t a  _ kind _ sound. “Let me give you some advice.” And he raised his voice -- if he was going to make the threat, he might as well make sure that everyone heard him.

“Don’t touch George.” His fingers gripped the brunette’s jumper for just a moment, “He’s  **mine** .” The word felt so right falling off of his tongue. He released him with a smile and then took a step toward the man in front of him. Flint was taller, burlier. But he was in here for armed robbery. Everyone knew that Dream was in for murder and that he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty.

Flint backed off, muttering obscenities under his breath. 

Tension ran like water out of Dream’s muscles, and he turned to George with furrowed brows. “You really have to watch where you’re going, Georgie.” His cellmate was trying to ignore him, fingers fumbling with the microwave, rattling the package of ramen. Dream was close enough that he could see that his hands were shaking. 

“I was fine.” George sounded defiant, stubborn. All bravado.

“Sure you were,” he took the package from trembling fingers and replaced it with a water bottle. “Fill that up and microwave the water. I’ll grab you a bowl.”

George stared at him for a moment with wide eyes, and Dream could see the shock behind them, the way that this entire situation had to be so overwhelming for someone on their  _ first offense _ who was in trouble for  _ smuggling.  _

He was so damn soft.  _ So sweet.  _ So delicate.

“I was  _ fine _ , Dream.” His voice was insistent. But still, he turned to fill up the water bottle and didn’t step away from his side again. 

Dream didn’t have to turn to feel Sapnap’s eyes on him, but when he did shift his gaze, Sap was grinning.

\---

He couldn’t tear his mind away from how it felt to have his arm around George -- how good it felt to come to his rescue. He was sure that word was getting around now that he’d threatened to break Flint’s arm for him. George had clambered up to the top bunk as soon as the guards called lights out without another word -- Dream wasn’t sure if the embarrassment from earlier or something else that kept him silent.

Whatever it was, it didn’t really sit well with him. He never thought that he’d be getting his kicks wanting to  _ help _ someone. Dream had done his best to  _ not _ care about anyone since he’d gotten here; Sap was the only exception. But now…

Now there was  _ Georgie. _

He felt  _ restless _ laying there on his bunk. He wanted to get up -- he wanted to talk to George, or work out, or get in a fight; he wanted to do  _ something _ to expel the energy that seemed intent on racing through his nerve endings and making him act out when he should have been trying to sleep. 

The best that he could do was stand up and take a piss, run his fingers through his hair after he washed his hands. For a moment, he stood there with his eyes fixated on the top bunk. It would be easy enough to climb up there -- easy enough to tell George that he  _ owed _ him… but he wasn’t that kind of person. He might have killed someone -- more than one someone -- but he wasn’t  _ that _ kind of person.

His body felt hot and his mind was spinning; the recollection of the sugary taste of the honeybun frosting mixed with  _ George _ was enough to make his head swim again. He tore his shirt off and threw it on top of his chest and then climbed back into bed. It only took him a moment to dig out his headphones, and another moment to flick some music on idly. It probably wasn’t going to help, but maybe he could manage to relax.

He closed his eyes and was just starting to feel the tension leave his muscles when he felt the almost timid shift at the edge of his mattress. It was only soft for a moment… and then he felt pressure above him when George  _ crawled into his bed. _

“What the fu--” A small hand spilled over his lips, and he could see how wide George’s eyes were even in the low light of their room. The man above him had the slightest tremble running through his arm, but his voice sounded warm when he spoke. 

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” George licked his lips -- all that Dream could focus on was that small, pink tongue peeking through to wet full, plush lips. He couldn’t  _ think _ around the sight of it, but his own words echoed back in his head. 

_ I could help you, if you’d have me?  _

What he  _ wanted _ . 

In contrast to where his brain immediately went, Dream’s lips offered an out. “You don’t have to do this. I’ll--”

But George cut him off with his finger on his lips, a soft shushing sound that filled Dream’s head with so much electric static. The brunette wasn’t going to listen, and he honestly wasn’t sure if he had the willpower to keep trying to stop him from trying to give him what he  _ wanted _ .

George had no  _ idea _ what he wanted -- Dream wasn’t sure himself. But he knew that it was probably more than either of them was willing to give; it was too late to worry about that, though. His mind had made a decided shift away from logic and was solely focused on the way that the body atop his felt  _ so good. _

It took every bit of willpower that he had not to move; the low sound of a mixture of frustration and need catching somewhere in the back of his throat. George was laying atop him like he  _ belonged _ there, like his pretty privilege gave him every right to claim whatever spot he wanted. And when he leaned in and bumped their foreheads together, he couldn’t stop the thready, feral sound that slipped from between his lips. His entire world was suddenly swimming with the depths of a dark brown ocean that was trying to drown him. He’d forgotten how to swim. 

Or maybe he didn’t want to.

And he couldn’t stop his hand from slowly, tentatively slipping around George’s waist. It was a ghost of a touch -- he wanted to make sure that the man above him knew what he was doing.

What he was getting himself into.

And he wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to resist for much longer if George didn’t do  _ something  _ to acknowledge the weight of what was happening one way or another _. _

“George,” he managed to spill the word from his chest, and even Dream was surprised that his voice had spilled to a lower octave. Maybe it was just the fact that he’d been celibate for his stint so far… or maybe it was the way that George was looking at him with wide, needy eyes that were chasing with fear and some other emotion that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

“I-I don’t mind being yours,” George’s head slipped down, until his lips were pressed to the pulse at Dream’s throat and his hot breath tickled against his skin. It was the slightest pressure, but it sent fire jolting through his body, trailing from that pinpoint of his throat to his stomach, his pelvis, roaring back up through his head to dash away his self-control. Dream’s eyes slid shut, his body tensing as he took a shaky breath. “If you’ll take care of me.”

Dream had to swallow down the growl that tried to pool from his chest -- had to stop himself from flipping George beneath him so he could see him; so he could  _ see _ what he was giving himself over to. Dream wasn’t…

He wasn’t a _ good _ guy. And Georgie seemed like he was good.  _ So good. _

He just clenched his hand tighter on his back, pulling the smaller man flush against his bare torso by the fabric of his shirt. It was rough, but Dream didn’t care -- the warm press of his body was better than anything he’d felt for entirely too long. He knew that his body was betraying that fact -- he could tell by the sudden tightness of his usually loose bottoms; he was sure that George could feel it, too. There was a moment of thought to  _ hide it _ , but… no. This was what he was signing up for… so...

His words were deep when they were murmured -- it was George’s last chance to change his mind, to back out. 

“I don’t want anything that you don’t want to give.” 

With a soft smile that he could feel against the hot skin of his throat, George’s hand trailed down between their bodies and slid underneath the hem of Dream’s pajama pants and his entire world  _ shifted. _


End file.
